


Safe With Me

by shadow_lover



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Background Cullen/Carver, Background Demon Sex, Background Noncon, Codependency, Crying, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Demon Baby, Lactation Kink (mention), M/M, Mpreg, Pregnant Sex, Protectiveness, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a bright, cloudless day in Kirkwall, and Garrett was glad at first when the Templar dropped Carver on his doorstep. He’d missed his little brother, and it was always good to see him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting from here: http://21-days.dreamwidth.org/2504.html?thread=252104#cmt252104

It was a bright, cloudless day in Kirkwall, and Garrett was glad at first when the Templar dropped Carver on his doorstep. He’d missed his little brother, and it was always good to see him. Meredith was keeping all the Templars, from Knight-Captain Cullen to the newest recruits, busier and busier every year, and it had been months since they had a chance to catch up.

Then he realized how ashen Carver was, too thin in the face, leaning heavily against the doorjamb to stay upright. Swaddled in a thick cloak though it was the height of summer.

And the other Templar at his shoulder, a stern young man with a face like a battleaxe, looked scared.

“What the fuck is going on?” asked Garrett, crossing his arms.

His scowl seemed to further terrify the young Templar, who stammered, “C-Carver isn’t well, and—and we can’t—the Knight-Captain said to take him to you. So. Here he is.”

Garrett debated further interrogation, but Carver looked like he was about to pass out at any moment. And if this was on Cullen’s orders—the Knight-Captain knew he was a mage, and sending Carver to his apostate brother for care meant there was something wrong beyond the expertise of Order or Circle. 

Which meant Garrett really didn’t have time for this nonsense. “Thanks,” he said shortly. “Tell Cullen ‘hi’ for me.”

With that, he grabbed his brother by the shoulder, dragged him inside, and slammed the door in the Templar’s face.

Nobody was around in the entry hall—presumably Orana was in her room or the kitchen, Bodahn was out on business, and Sandal was off playing with Calenhad—which was just as well. “Are you hurt?” asked Garrett. “Can you get up the stairs?”

Carver shook off Garrett’s hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I can walk,” he snapped, or tried to snap. The words came out fainter than he likely intended, but his glare was sharp as ever. Sharper, perhaps. His time in training had only honed the intensity that Garrett always found so compelling in his brother.

“All right, then,” said Garrett, like trying to soothe a giant and angry spider, and he led the way upstairs. Slowly, sure, and he pretended not to hear Carver’s occasional stumble. When they got to his room, he locked the door behind them. If there was some dark magic involved, he didn’t want Bodahn or Orana stumbling in. Sandal might prove useful, with the whole enchantment thing, but best not to take any chances to start with.

He glanced at his brother. Carver was holding the cloak even tighter around himself, and he wouldn’t look Garrett in the eyes. That was no good, Garrett thought. He needed to get Carver to loosen up, let go. Share with him the way they used to share as children.

The way things used to be. Garrett walked to the foot of the bed and sat on the floor, leaned back against the footboard. The carpet was too plush, the wood of the footboard far too fine and smooth, but they used to sit on the floor together, rough floorboards beneath them and sagging mattress at their backs. Maybe this wasn’t so different. “Sit with me,” Garrett said.

And Carver half sat, half fell beside his brother. He kept the cloak swathed around him, and sweat shone over his temples.

Garrett slung an arm over Carver’s shoulders and tugged him closer in. Carver stiffened at first, then relaxed with what looked to be a great deal of effort. “Talk to me, brother,” said Garrett. “What’s got that green-eared recruit friend of yours so scared?”

“Moren’s not that green,” said Carver quietly. His eyes darted from door to window, back again, and down to the floor. He gathered his breath, and with it, it seemed, his will. “It's just—something attacked us. When we were out on the Wounded Coast. Some sort of demon, like nothing we’d ever seen before."

Garrett dropped his hand down to stroke slow circles up and down his brother's back, trying to soothe him through the heavy cloak.

“Something attacked me,” he repeated . “I don’t know what it was, and I don’t know what it did to me, but it did something. And it—oh, Maker—”

“What?” asked Garrett. “You can tell me anything.”

Carver tucked his face into Garrett’s shoulder. He hadn’t done that since they were children, waiting for their dad to come back late at night. Carver whispered, “It fucked me. It left something inside me. And it’s growing.”

Well. Garrett wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

To his credit, his hand never faltered in its slow circuit up and down Carver’s back. A small part of him was revolted, yes. This was far outside the scope of anything he knew. And— _growing_ , that was— But larger part of him was just concerned that his little brother was in pain, and scared, and he wasn’t sure if he could do anything to help. He swallowed hard.

“When was this?” he asked quietly.

“A week ago,” said Carver. “And it’s growing fast.”

A week. Carver had had some sort of demonic parasite inside him for a _week_ before the Templars brought him home. Garrett kept his voice low despite the fierce surge of protectiveness. “Can I see?”

Carver shuddered and pulled out from under Garrett’s arm. He stood, unsteadily, and let the cloak drop. Underneath he was wearing only a thin undershirt and trousers. No armor and nothing to hide the soft swell of his belly. Garrett wondered, oddly, how it would feel under his hands, how different from the taut muscles he used to trace with fingers and tongue. A perfectly round bulge swelling out from his brother’s abdomen, like a woman four months—

“I’m fucking pregnant, Garrett,” hissed Carver. “Fucking _pregnant_. The Templars sent me home to you because I’m _pregnant_ with _demonspawn_.”

Garrett sighed and stood up too. “Well,” he said. “I always did think you’d be a wonderful parent.”

Carver shoved at him but smiled a bit. Thank the Maker, Garrett could still get him to laugh.

Garrett joined the laugh and then grew serious again. He wasn’t really sure how to react. “Can I touch it? I want to check you over.”

Carver nodded and without further instruction slipped his shirt over his head. There were rippling stripes along his sides—stretchmarks—and his smooth golden belly was bisected by a trail of dark hair leading down from his bellybutton. “We think it was some sort of fucked-up desire demon,” he muttered, looking away.

“Why’s that?” asked Garrett, though he had a sense he knew the answer already.

Carver shuddered again. “Because—everyone around is—strangely drawn to me,” he said.

His meaning was unmistakable. Now that he was really looking, Garrett could even see small bruises, dark against his brother’s neck--bite marks, hard kisses. He knew Carver had had lovers before, he’d even met some of them, and that was fine. He was proud of him. But for some reason--blame it on the demon—the sight of _these_ bruises filled Garrett with an ugly jealousy. He bit his lip. “Is that why they brought you to me? Not just because we’re family, but… because we’re family, so I wouldn’t—”

“Yeah,” said Carver. “They figured of all the people you’re who I would be safest with.”

Garrett supposed it was a good thing Knight-Captain Cullen didn’t know quite how close he and his brother were.

“Well, you _are_ safe with me, little brother.” He stepped closer and folded Carver into his arms. The round belly pressed against him started a simmering heat deep within him. “You’ve always been safe with me.”

Carver closed his eyes, flushed, and again tucked his face into Garrett’s shoulder. He clutched at Garrett’s waist. “I know, Garrett. And I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else but you right now.”

The curved stretch of Carver’s bare neck was irresistible. Without thinking, Garrett kissed him, pressed his lips against every mark and bruise left by another. Softly, slowly, sweet wet kisses—Carver’s low moan went right down through his veins. Garrett could never tire of seeing his strong-willed little brother turn into such a _responsive_ quivering mess.

“Who left these marks on you?” he murmured into his brother’s jaw.

Carver swallowed hard. “Cullen,” he confessed, flushing red to his ears. “He—he helped me, I needed release so bad.”

“You couldn’t—”

“I tried, alone, I came and came but it didn’t help—I needed someone else.”

Garrett imagined Carver, alone and desperate in his chamber, tangled in bedsheets, fisting his cock over and over and over. Seed splattered over his rounded belly, his cock red and raw and hard after every orgasm. He should feel sympathy, perhaps, but the picture only excited him further.

Garrett pressed a wet, open kiss to Carver’s temple and his brother practically melted against him.

“Oh, Maker, Garrett,” he moaned. 

Garrett held him closer. “Sh, I’ve got you. I’m gonna take care of you. Like I’ve always taken care of you.”

Carver surged up and met Garrett’s mouth with his. It was desperate, it was furious, it was not claiming but offering himself wholly to his older brother. Garrett’s knees weakened. He’d never wanted Carver as he did now.

Garrett tangled one hand into Carver’s hair and slid the other down Carver’s body. His brother was built more sturdily than the last time they did this. The years working with the mercenaries and training with the Templars had been good to him. His skin, though, besides the scars, was just as smooth as the first time they touched in the dark of their room, Garrett’s hand over Carver’s mouth so that mother and Bethany couldn’t hear.

Carver whined as Garrett brushed over his nipple. Both were pink and puffy. Garrett pinched one, and as Carver bucked and moaned he wondered if his younger brother would lactate a month or two from now. He wondered what it would taste like.

He broke the kiss and let his mouth follow the trail his hand had blazed, relishing Carver’s panting breaths overhead. He kissed down Carver’s neck, bit along his collarbone, kissed down, and latched onto one of the swollen nipples. Carver cried out and nearly jerked away, but Garrett tightened his grasp in Carver’s hair and held him still.

He ran his hand over his brother’s belly lightly, then firmer, tracing every square inch of the grotesque swell. Beautiful. Carver’s skin was hot as Garrett had never felt it. It warmed the very core of him, to touch, to smell the sweat, to even think about the thing growing inside Carver. Growing, and Garrett knew that it would grow harder and harder to resist as Carver’s belly swelled larger and larger.

Conveniently he had no intention of resisting. He pulled off of Carver’s nipple. “Maker, you have no idea how good you look, do you?”

“What the _fuck_ , Garrett,” but the protest was weak and trailed off into another moan as Garrett moved to the other nipple.

As he sucked, tonguing the stiff nub, he reached to unlace Carver’s trousers. He pushed them down so they fell around his ankles

“Get these off,” growled Garrett. “I want you on your hands and knees.”

Carver raced to comply, nearly tripping over himself as he kicked out of his trousers and slid his smallclothes off. He dropped down and held the position on the floor. Garrett reflected that, while his brother had many talents, Carver probably best excelled at bending on hands and knees, back arched, ass up, his head bowed not in fear, not in submission, but in simple acceptance of anything Garrett wanted of him.

And with his swollen belly hanging beneath him. “You look so good like that,” breathed Garrett as he stripped out of his own clothes. Maybe this wasn’t quite natural, maybe the demon was affecting his judgment, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

Carver looked up, glared. “Will you fuck me already?”

Garrett laughed and swatted him on the ass. Not hard, definitely not as hard as Carver liked it, but his cock twitched anyway and he tilted his ass higher. Garrett knelt behind him, pressed up against him, covered him, cock resting heavy between Carver’s ass cheeks. He braced himself on one arm and reached the other hand to stick three fingers into Carver’s mouth.

Carver laved them with his tongue, slicking them up with spit. He sucked greedily—another of his talents.

“That’s good,” said Garrett. “That’s good. Get them nice and wet. I want to be good to you.”

Carver sucked all the harder, rocking his ass back against Garrett’s cock.

“You’re safe here,” said Garrett, his own breath stuttering in his throat at the sweet friction. 

When he judged his fingers were wet enough, he trailed them down Carver’s face, down Carver’s neck, over his shoulder, along his quivering ribs. Over his hip and then between their bodies of them, poised at Carver’s entrance.

“Fuck me, Garrett,” Carver demanded.

Garrett sucked along his brother’s neck. “Alright,” said Garrett. “If you really want me to.”

Carver whined. 

Garrett wanted nothing more than to shove inside him _right now_ , but he held back, because Carver was still holding something back. He knew his little brother like nobody else could ever know him, like he could know nobody else, and Carver knew him. No matter how many months or years they spent apart, only seeing each other in passing between Carver’s training and Hawke’s unsavory exploits, Garrett would always know exactly what Carver needed--and what he needed from Carver.

Pressed against each other, back to chest, he could feel Carver’s heartbeat echoing through him as he asked, “Who am I, Carver?”

Carver made a choking sound and dropped his head further. He whispered a word and Garrett heard it clear as day. “Daddy,” said Carver. “ _Daddy_.”

“That’s right,” said Garrett. “And I’m always gonna be there for you.”

He pulled away slightly and pushed his fingers inside his brother. They slipped in so easily, like Carver’s ass was hungry for them. Maker, yes, he was made to take this.

And Garrett was made to take care of Carver, as Malcolm never truly had. 

He fucked his fingers into Carver, first two, then quickly added a third, not so much to loosen his brother but to wring out those small, sweet sounds, to set his thighs quivering. To take his time, because he knew that as soon as he pushed his cock in he wouldn’t be able to keep it slow.

Fucking Carver always took him back to their years on the run, when Malcolm would leave for weeks at a time and Garrett had to take his place at the head of the family. Leandra and Bethany, when push came to shove, could take care of themselves. Carver was the one who truly needed him.

Carver whined and shuddered warm around his fingers. Sweat beaded from his shoulders, stuck between them. “Fuck me, daddy,” he pleaded again. “Please, daddy, fuck me now.”

Garrett chuckled and leaned up to put his lips to Carver’s ear. “All right, kid. Since you asked _so_ nicely.”

He slipped one hand around Carver’s hip and the other lower, splayed along Carver’s rounded belly. The skin was so soft, so smooth, something electric sparked between them, up Garrett’s veins and into his lungs. Every breath he took tasted of Carver. “You’re doing so good,” he exhaled into Carver’s ear. “You take this so well.”

Carver choked on a whimper and rocked back into Garrett’s cock.

Garrett bit off a curse and abandoned his exploration to line himself up behind Carver. He thrust all the way into him in one slow stroke. Carver cried out, words Garrett couldn’t understand. He couldn’t believe how long it had been since they last did this. So tight and hot around him, clutching at his cock, pulling him deeper in.

“Oh, Maker, Carver,” he grunted. He fucked into him hard and fast. He had no more patience or self-restraint, couldn’t slow down, wouldn’t slow—crept a hand down again to paw at Carver’s swollen belly.

Carver made a choked, whining sound with every forceful thrust. His whole body shook as Garrett slapped against the backs of his thighs. Garrett dug his fingers into Carver’s ass, kneading at the firm muscles.

Beneath his other hand, he could have sworn he felt something moving inside Carver, and the thought filled him with a sick sort of desire, pooling in his veins like no magic he’d ever felt before.

Carver cried out louder as another small motion vibrated against Garrett’s hand. “What is it, kid? Talk to me.”

Carver whined and managed to say, choked up, like he was trying not to cry: “I can feel it moving. It feels—oh, Maker—Maker—Daddy—”

Garrett dropped both hands down, cupped around the top swell of Carver’s belly, slid up and down the smooth curve. Trying to soothe him while he savored every small bump and kick. “Does it hurt?” he asked, didn’t know which answer he wanted.

Carver shuddered and let out a tiny sob. “No,” he muttered. “No, it—Daddy, it feels so good.”

“It’s okay,” said Garrett, renewing his thrusts. Switching his angle, and Carver’s back _arched_ like a drawn bow. He was slicker than he ought to be with spit alone to ease the way, but Garrett wasn’t going to question that now. “It’s okay to feel good. I just want you to feel good. I got you.” He leaned over, ducked down, covered Carver again with his entire body. He bit into the meat of Carver’s shoulder.

When he stretched a hand further up to pinch at Carver’s nipple, Carver cried out and froze beneath him. Froze, then shuddered, and Garrett knew without looking or feeling that Carver had spilled over the floor.

The feel of his little brother clenching around him sent Garrett over the edge. He jackknifed into Carver and shuddered deeper. Euphoric wave of heat, a kick against his palm—Garrett came, rough and silent, shoved so hard in that Carver collapsed onto the hardwood beneath him. Face flat on the floor as Garrett filled him up, thrust shallow in with every aftershock.

Garrett slid out, slowly, and fell to the floor. Carver was still shaking—sobbing—with need or relief--and Garrett gathered him close, held him tight until he stilled into exhaustion. “We’ll take care of this,” he whispered, as he traced once more over the hot, tight skin. He had ideas, already, now that the lust was ebbing, of how to get rid of the demon, or how to keep it, nurture it—but that could wait. For now, he simply needed to hold his brother through the next few hours. “I’ll take care of you.”

As he always had.


End file.
